This was the summer I began drinking. Again. Because I could. Just as I could stop whenever I decided to. I had earned myself this skill. But this summer I needed to work, to write. And all the great old writers had drunk copiously during their glory days. So, this might not be the most auspicious start to my story, but bear with me. As an author I usually know how the story ends. This is a true story. I could never have predicted the end.Fitzgerald...